


On and Off

by Amedia



Series: Nocturne [2]
Category: Barney Miller (TV)
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Canon Gay Character, Gay Bar, M/M, Warning: offensive language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-14
Updated: 2010-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-13 05:05:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/133274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amedia/pseuds/Amedia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Harris and Dietrich, who are not getting along, have to go undercover in a gay bar.</p><blockquote>"Why did we ever--" Harris caught himself and started over. "Why aren't we... Arthur, why are we 'off' and not 'on'?"<p>Dietrich knew what that stumbling sincerity had cost Harris, and chose to respect it with an honest guess. "Because we can't stand each other?"</p></blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	On and Off

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY, August 2001.

As he came up from the subway stop, Dietrich paused to enjoy the mid-afternoon sunshine and to stretch for a moment before walking to the crumbling building that housed the 12th Precinct. There were few people on the sidewalk, which made for welcome elbow room; even at that time of day, coming in for an evening shift, public transportation had been crowded.

Riding the subway always brought out the paradox of living in New York; one could be in constant physical contact with perfect strangers without ever really touching anyone. At work there were days when handcuffing suspects was the closest he came to touching another human being—except, of course, when he and Harris were in a more active phase of their ongoing extracurricular activities.

All things considered, when it comes to this on-and-off thing with Harris, on is better than off, he thought. As he walked along, he continued to follow the new line of thought. On was definitely better, for reasons that went beyond terrific sex. Sometimes, just being able to touch another human being was indescribably comforting. But it never lasted long—before things could get too intense, one or both of them would drift away. Undoubtedly a defense mechanism, he concluded, deliberately refraining from speculating about what he and Harris might be defending against. They would go back to a cooler distance, a harder edge to the banter, a keener sense of isolation. _Can't really call it 'back to normal,'_ he mused. _We don't have a 'normal.'_

Their most recent active phase had been a few months ago. In a fit of boredom, Dietrich had decided to try something—anything—new, and an article on the New Celibacy had caught his eye. Somehow he found himself telling the whole squadroom that he'd given up "women and sex," and had the satisfaction of observing Harris' startled reaction.

During a lull, when they were alone in the squadroom, Dietrich had gone over behind Harris' desk to do some filing. Harris greeted him with a casual, "So—you're giving up women and sex, huh?"

"That's the plan," Dietrich answered, looking down at him.

"You know," Harris said without lifting his head from the report he was reviewing, "you could give up the former without giving up the latter."

Dietrich dropped the last folder into place, closed the drawer, and leaned against the filing cabinet, crossing his arms. "Should I take that as an invitation?" he asked lightly. Asking seriously, of course, was out of the question. The odds were too high that Harris would laugh at him, or worse, back off. Or, most frightening of all, respond in kind.

Harris stood up, rapping the report on the desk to line the papers up. "You can take it… any way you want, Arthur," he said with a mischievous grin. "'Scuse me," he added, and squeezed past Dietrich, rather more slowly than necessary, to saunter across the room and drop his report onto a stack. Dietrich scribbled a note reading, "My place? Eight o'clock," dropped it on Harris' desk, and went back to his own. When Harris returned to find Dietrich apparently absorbed in paperwork, he gave him a puzzled look as if he'd expected the conversation to last, then spotted the note. Dietrich, who'd been watching him surreptitiously, made a show of looking up; Harris caught his eye and nodded, stuffing the note into a pocket.

It had been fun, but as usual, it hadn't lasted.  


* * *

  


 

Dietrich barely had time to hang up his coat and start pouring himself a cup of coffee when the door to Captain Miller's office opened. The captain stuck his head out. "Harris, Dietrich, can I see you in my office?"

"Sure, Captain," Dietrich said, setting down his half-filled cup.

"Coming, Barney," Harris said, closing a folder on his desk.

They filed into Barney's office separately and sat down on the couch, not too far apart, but not touching.

"Gentlemen," the captain began, "it seems we have a serious problem in our precinct. Are you familiar with the Immoral Butterfly?"

"That's a gay bar over on Houston, isn't it?" Harris asked.

"Right," Barney said. "In the last few weeks, three couples have been attacked right after leaving the bar, usually about a block away."

"A few weeks?" Dietrich asked. "Why haven't we heard about this before?"

"We didn't find out until yesterday, when a pair of victims finally contacted the police." Barney pushed the complaint report across the desk. "They had been afraid to come forward. I think our friend Marty convinced them to talk to us." He waited until they had both skimmed the report, Dietrich reading over Harris' shoulder. "I want to see if we can recreate the circumstances of the attack, but with policemen instead of civilians. That's where you two come in."

"Wait just a minute, Barney," Harris said. "I don't know what you think Arthur and I are doing these days, but it's always been off and on, and right now it's definitely off."

"Believe me, I can tell," Barney said pointedly. "But that's entirely irrelevant. What you two have done, are doing, or might be contemplating, has nothing to do with this assignment." He glared at both of them. "I have to send two of my detectives, and I think the scope of this assignment is beyond Wojo's acting talents."

"Oh, I don't know," said Dietrich suddenly. "Put him in a leather jacket, park him in a corner and let him glower a lot. Which would come naturally anyway."

Harris chuckled. "The clientele would be all over him."

"Excuse me," Barney said. "I'm the one giving out the assignments here, remember?" They turned their attention back to him, looking only slightly chastised. "Unfortunately I do need to send a couple," he said. "But now that you mention it, I was thinking about sending Wojo as backup."

"Might be a good idea," Harris said seriously. "When do you want to set this up?"

Barney leaned forward and tapped the report. "The attacks have all happened on a Tuesday or a Friday. Today's Friday."

"No time like the present," said Dietrich. Harris nodded agreement.

Barney handed Harris a folder. "Here's a more detailed workup of the case. I want you both to study it. And send Wojo in on your way out, would you?"

"Oh, to be a fly on the wall," Dietrich whispered as they went out. Harris chuckled.  


* * *

  


 

Dietrich flipped over a page describing the bar. "Not a flashy place, apparently," he said. In the background, he could hear a low-pitched hum of voices from the captain's office. "Caters to businessmen, ordinary middle-class citizens. Blending in shouldn't be too difficult."

"Speak for yourself, Arthur," Harris said. He indicated his impeccably tasteful and expensive suit with a wave of his hand, and straightened the knot of his perfectly-coordinated tie. "Ordinary, middle-class, indeed," he grumbled under his breath while rummaging in his desk drawers.

"Sorry," said Dietrich, who wasn't.

"Hmph," said Harris, still rummaging. "Ah. Here." He pulled out a street map of Manhattan and spread it out on his desk, marking the address of the bar with an X. The voices from Barney's office had grown slightly louder; he cocked his head for a moment, listening. "Sounds like he's still filling Wojo in on the background."

Dietrich nodded. "Definitely hasn't gotten to the assignment yet."

Harris grinned. "No, I think we'll know exactly when that happens." Returning his attention to the map, he said, "We need to figure out where to put people. We'll want a squad car nearby, to provide additional backup, or at least to put the suspects in after we catch them. The attacks generally took place around here—" he put a finger on the map a block away from the bar.

"Let me see," Dietrich said. He got up and moved over next to Harris to get a better view of the map.

"You want me to WHAT?" bellowed Wojo's voice from Barney's office.

Harris and Dietrich nodded at each other. "That was the assignment going down," Harris said.

"Next, we'll hear Captain Miller being reasonable…." Dietrich speculated. Indeed, they could make out the tone of Barney's voice, if not the words, and the captain was obviously trying to be persuasive.  
"Wonder how long before he gives up and reminds Wojo that this is not an optional assignment," Harris said.

Chuckling at Harris' imitation of Barney's voice, Dietrich looked at the area Harris had indicated on the street map. "We could have a squad car tucked away there out of the line of sight," he said, pointing to a nearby side street.

"It's out of sight if they're going to follow us from the bar, which is one possibility," Harris agreed, "but if the assailants are, say, setting themselves up from this side, they'll be able to see the squad car from there."

Suddenly, an exasperated "Wojo!" could clearly be heard from the captain's office, followed by angry words from Barney that they couldn't make out.

"Obviously friendly persuasion didn't work," Harris said. "Time to pull rank."

"Rank has its privileges," Dietrich said. They could both hear the petulant tone of Wojo's response. "And its tribulations. I don't envy the captain right now." He studied the map. "You're right about that line of sight." He traced a line in a different direction. "What about—"

The door to Barney's office opened and they both looked up. Wojciehowicz came out, scowling.

"Hey, Wojo," said Harris.

"Got your assignment?" asked Dietrich innocently.

"Don't start with me," Wojo said grumpily, throwing himself into his chair.

"Look at it this way, Wojo," Harris said. "You've got the easy job. Arthur and I have to pretend to like each other."

Wojciehowicz laughed. "Yeah, you're right." He studied the two of them for a moment. Wojo was never one to be subtle. "Getting a head start?"

Dietrich was suddenly aware of the picture they must present, so close together—but how else can two people look at the same spot on a map? Pointing that out to Wojo, however, would look too defensive.

"I keep trying," Harris said in an injured tone, "but Arthur insists on actually reading the damn map."

Dietrich played along, pouting. "And he won't let me call him 'Ron.'"

Wojo shook his head. "You'd better get it straight by tonight," he admonished.

"Straight?" Harris asked.

"You know what I mean," Wojo said, glaring at them. The phone rang, cutting off further conversation. "Twelfth Precinct, Wojciehowicz."

"That was close," Dietrich whispered, pulling a chair over and sitting down. "Good save."

"Thanks," Harris said. "Nervous?"

"A little," Dietrich admitted.

Harris leaned back in his chair. "It's a potentially dangerous assignment. Could get violent."

Dietrich met his eyes. "That's not what I'm nervous about."

Harris looked thoughtful. "You think Wojo's going to catch on?"

"Not really." _I'm afraid you are_, he thought, but didn't say it. He didn't want to admit to himself, much less to anyone else, that he was starting to get attached. He was relieved when Harris didn't pursue the subject, and they went back to working out the logistics of the operation.  


* * *

  


 

The exterior of the bar was gaudy, with a huge, vibrantly-colored butterfly painted across the storefront. There was a bouncer outside, who nodded pleasantly and opened the door for them. Inside, it was dim, with a faded elegance reminiscent of an earlier era. The carpet and furnishings were in shades of dull maroon and gold; the bar appeared to be mahogany. There were a number of tables and a small dance floor, where a few couples were slow-dancing. Soft music was playing from a hidden sound system.

Dietrich glanced around casually at the tables. About half were occupied, some by couples, some by singles, some by small groups. He spotted Wojo sitting alone at a table near the wall; he could tell Wojo saw them, but no gesture was exchanged. He turned back to Harris. "Our friend is here."

"Good. Let's get a table."

"You get a table. I'll get drinks."

They sat and sipped their drinks for a while. It would have been helpful to be able to discuss the case and go over the plan one more time, but there was too much danger of being overheard. Every now and then, Dietrich noted with amusement, some hardy soul would venture over to Wojo's table and make overtures; Wojo would growl, "I'm waiting for someone," and the person would go away again.

Harris leaned over close enough to whisper and not be overheard. "We can't sit here and drink for the next hour, unless you're fond of Tab. We'll be too snockered to make an arrest."

"How else do you suggest establishing our bona fides?" Dietrich asked.

Harris looked pointedly at the dance floor. Dietrich shrugged. "Why not?"  


* * *

  


 

It was a little bit awkward at first, eyeing the other couples to see how exactly they were positioned, and shuffling more or less in time to the music. After a few minutes they settled into a comfortable loose hug. After a few more minutes, Harris stretched in place like a cat, flexing and relaxing a little bit at a time all over and settling infinitesimally closer to Dietrich. Dietrich responded by moving one hand lightly up and down Harris' back. Harris let out a contented sigh.

Dietrich was amused by his partner's display of hedonism. "If I scratch behind your ears," he murmured, "will you purr?"

"Oh, you know how to make me purr, Arthur," Harris said huskily.

Which was true enough, Dietrich mused. They had spent a whole lazy golden weekend together shortly after he had saved Harris' life. Dietrich had taken delight in learning Harris' body in detail: where a steady massage would bring relaxation; where a bold caress would bring arousal; where the slightest touch would bring ecstasy.

Harris' voice brought him out of his reverie. "Why did we ever--" he caught himself and started over. "Why aren't we... Arthur, why are we 'off' and not 'on'?"

Dietrich knew what that stumbling sincerity had cost Harris, and chose to respect it with an honest guess. "Because we can't stand each other?"

Harris didn't answer. Dietrich risked a peek over Harris' shoulder at Wojo, who was fending off another would-be admirer. "Poor Wojo. I think he's about to burst a blood vessel."

Harris chuckled. Turning his head so that he and Dietrich were nose-to-nose, he said, "Shall we give him apoplexy?"

Dietrich suddenly wanted nothing more. A few of the couples on the dance floor were kissing; he briefly considered pretending that they were simply playing along. But in his heart he knew it would be going too far at several levels. It was going farther than they needed to establish their cover; farther than was plausible for Wojo to keep believing they were just acting; and farther than their quirky friendship could presently accommodate. "It took a lot for Wojo just to come here," he said. "We shouldn't tease him like that." He studied Harris' face, so tantalizingly close, and struggled to keep longing out of his voice, replacing it with calculated irritation. "And you shouldn't tease me like that either."

He felt Harris stiffen in his arms, as if stung by the rebuke. Then Harris relaxed and smiled. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." His expression grew more serious, and he moved a hand up to the nape of Dietrich's neck, playing with the tangled reddish curls. "But you're not the only one who's tempted." He turned his head again to whisper in Dietrich's ear. "And you know what else?"

"What?"

"You need a haircut."

 

Dietrich felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see a familiar face. "Mind if I cut in?"

"Marty!" Harris exclaimed with pleasure, reaching out to shake Marty's hand. "Arthur, you've met Marty Morrison, haven't you?"

"Yes, of course," Dietrich said. "As I recall, we discussed Swan Lake."

"You never discussed Swan Lake with me," Harris complained.

"You never asked."

Marty interposed himself between them, gently disengaging the two. "Gentlemen, please. I've already had a lovely chat with Wojo," he said. "I promised not to… blow his cover." He winked. "Or anything else."

"Marty!" Dietrich scolded.

"I know I was being naughty, but it was irresistible. You boys are so lucky to work with him. I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have backing me up."

His good humor was infectious, and the other two couldn't help but smile. "Well, Marty," Harris said, "when it comes to you, I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have as an inside man."

Marty was obviously tickled. "Oh, you wicked creature!" he said, lightly slapping Harris' arm. "Now, if you don't mind," he added more seriously, "I have some information you might find helpful in your efforts. My friend and I—" he nodded to one of the nearby tables, where a familiar dignified figure raised his glass in their direction—"thought a temporary exchange of partners would be the easiest approach."

"Partner-swapping on the first double date, Marty?" Harris pretended to be shocked.

"We had no idea you were such swingers," Dietrich added.

"Oh, we're full of surprises," Marty said, looking amused. "Though I think you've given us a bigger one." Ignoring the startled look that Harris and Dietrich exchanged, he put a hand on Harris' shoulder. "May I have this dance?"

"Of course," Harris said, taking Marty's other hand in his own. Dietrich headed for the table.

"Won't you sit down, Det—Arthur?" Mr. Driscoll offered.

"Don't mind if I do, er….." Dietrich paused. The couple had been "Marty and Mr. Driscoll" for so long that it was hard to remember either Marty's surname or Driscoll's given name."

"It's Daryl, dear boy," Driscoll said with an odd, knowing smile that made Dietrich suddenly feel nervous. "Marty tells me that Wojo thinks you put on a good act."

Dietrich smiled back. "And what do you think?"

"Oh, I agree. It's a very impressive act that you both put on. In the squadroom, that is."

"Daryl, this is an undercover assignment. We're supposed to—"

"I'm gay, Arthur." Driscoll glared at him. "Not blind."

"Sorry," Dietrich replied. "I didn't mean to insult your powers of observation."

"It's all right," Driscoll said, his good humor quickly restored. "How long…?"

"About two years, on and off. More off than on." Driscoll cocked an inviting eyebrow, and Dietrich sighed. "It's a long story."

"Does it have a happy ending?"

"I don't know," Dietrich said frankly. The unexpected perceptiveness, followed by the surprisingly sincere interest and sympathy, had gotten past his defenses.

Driscoll looked from Dietrich to Harris, who was listening intently to Marty. "You both look simply miserable." He sighed happily and took a sip of his drink. "Call me a hopeless romantic, but I find that a very promising sign."  


* * *

  


 

As planned, Wojo left at exactly 8:10. Since only couples had been attacked, he wasn't expecting any trouble; he was to walk up a few blocks and then circle back to a side street nearby. At 8:17, Harris and Dietrich strolled out the exit. As they trotted up the stairs to street level, Dietrich felt Harris take his hand. The couple who had been assaulted, he remembered, had said that they were holding hands when attacked. Even though it was part of the assignment, it felt very odd to be walking this way in public.

They walked the length of the block and most of the next one without incident. Dietrich stopped when they reached the corner and leaned toward Harris. "I don't like this," he whispered in Harris' ear. "The setup is exactly like the others—same day of the week, same time of day. Something should have happened by now."

"Marty told me something about our informants. He said they were very much intimidated by the police," Harris said.

"Do you think…?"

"Marty thinks they were doing a lot more than holding hands when they were jumped," Harris said. There was a streetlamp on the corner; he took a few steps toward it, tugging at Dietrich's hand to make him follow. Dietrich nodded his agreement.

They had been walking side by side; now, as they stopped just outside the circle of light cast by the lamp, he swung around to face his partner. He took Harris' other hand and stood still for a moment, staring down at their joined hands. Glancing back up, he caught Harris looking at him, his expression unreadable. He let go of one of Harris' hands, reached out, and traced the other man's jawline, watching closely for a reaction. He was pleasantly surprised when Harris smiled. Where do we go from here? "What do we need to do?" he asked softly, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Is that really the question?" Harris asked. "Or is it, what do we want to do?"

Before he could answer, Dietrich caught sight of a flash of movement just a few feet away. "They're here!" he whispered.

"Wait for it," Harris said tensely.

"Hey, what have we here?" said a loud voice. Both detectives turned around to see two men facing them. Both were scruffy and white; one looked thirtyish, the other closer to fifty. The younger one was swinging a baseball bat; he was apparently the one who had spoken.

The older man answered. "I think we got something new here," he said, looking from Dietrich to Harris and back again. "I've seen plenty of faggots around here, and plenty of nigger-lovers, but this is the first time I've seen a nigger-loving faggot."

"Same here," said the other, staring at Dietrich. Then he looked at Harris. "What's with you, boy? Got a taste for white meat?"

Dietrich tensed, furious. "Sticks and stones, Arthur," murmured Harris.

"Don't tell me you're used to it," Dietrich hissed.

Harris shook his head. "You never get used to it."

The younger man spoke again. "Can't have this kind of trash littering the neighborhood," he said. "Let's teach 'em a lesson, like we did with those other queers last week." His eyes were glittering in anticipation.

There was no signal given, not even eye contact; the two simply sprang at the detectives without warning. The younger man swung his bat wildly at Harris, who ducked easily; Dietrich dodged a jab from the older man's left fist and parried a second punch from the right. "That's all we need," panted Harris, ducking another swing from the bat. He pulled out his badge and gun and Dietrich followed suit. "Police! Freeze! You're under arrest!

The bat fell and clattered on the sidewalk as the two men took to their heels, heading for the nearby corner. Unfortunately for them, they headed straight for the corner where Wojo was hiding. Wojo stepped out right in front of them, gun drawn. "Down on the ground! NOW!" he bellowed.

Both men dropped instantly. "See," Wojo, flashing his boyish grin at the other detectives, "you just gotta ask nice." He pulled out his handcuffs and began cuffing the nearest suspect; Dietrich cuffed the other, and they pulled the two suspects to their feet.

Meanwhile, Harris pulled out his Miranda card and began reading aloud. "You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right—"

"We were only trying to clean up the neighborhood!" the younger of them interrupted.

"Listen, punk," Wojo said, pointing a finger in the man's face, "you shouldn't say anything until—"

"They deserved it!" the older man interrupted, glaring at Harris and Dietrich. "Damn perverts!"

"Hey!" Wojo shouted. "Weren't you listening? They're undercover cops. Besides, even if they were perverts, that doesn't give you the right to beat up on 'em."

"Maybe you're one of 'em," the younger man growled.

Dietrich exchanged a worried glance with Harris; that remark was almost guaranteed to set Wojciehowicz off. Wojo leaned in closer, his expression menacing and his voice full of barely-controlled anger. "Listen, you stupid jerk, like he was saying, you have the right to shut the hell up, and I suggest you exercise it."

Harris raised his eyebrows, leaned over to Dietrich, and whispered, "That's our boy."

Dietrich smiled fondly. "If only they'd stay little till their Dr. Dentons wear out."

Harris turned back to the others. "If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney…."  


* * *

  


 

The two assailants were brought back to the Twelfth. "Good," Barney said, coming out of his office, "you got them."

"Sure did," Wojo said cheerfully.

"How'd everything go?"

"Piece of cake," Dietrich assured him. "We can book them for assault right now, and tomorrow we'll see if our informants can ID them for the earlier attacks."

"I don't think there's any doubt, Barney," Harris added. "Park it right there," he added to the suspect he was guiding in, the older of the two.

Dietrich sat his suspect down as well and put a fresh arrest report form in the typewriter. "Name?"

"Percy Russell."

Dietrich typed the name in, then stared at the suspect. "Percy?"

"I don’t wanna hear about it," the suspect groaned.

The booking process went smoothly; Barney sent Wojo to take both suspects to the Tombs. "You can head directly home from there," Barney added. "It's close enough to check-out time." After Wojo had left, Barney turned to Harris and Dietrich. "Why don't you go on home, too. I can take care of closing up shop."

"Thanks, Barn," said Harris.

"Thank you, Captain," Dietrich chimed in gratefully. After the excitement of a successfully-executed undercover operation, there was always a letdown. Besides, he'd found the assailants' hostility disturbing.

"Don't mention it," the captain said, and went wearily back into his office.

Dietrich was getting his coat from the rack when Harris came up behind him. "Come home with me, Arthur," Harris said.

Dietrich turned to look at him. Harris' usual aloof control was nowhere in evidence; he looked as exhausted as Dietrich felt.

Harris went on. "I'm too tired to play games—I just don't want to be alone."

Dietrich didn't have the energy to put up a façade of nonchalance. He reached out and put a hand on Harris' shoulder, drawing sustenance from the contact. "Thanks," he said simply. "I'd like that."

Harris reached up, put his hand over Dietrich's, and squeezed it for a moment. As they turned and headed for the door, he put an arm around Dietrich's shoulders.

 _On again_ , Dietrich thought. _Definitely better than off._


End file.
